


show your little light

by unrealkinkster (criticalkink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criticalkink/pseuds/unrealkinkster
Summary: THERE'S ONLY ONE BED IN THE HOTEL ROOM OH NO HOW WILL THEY COPE





	show your little light

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the kmeme [here](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/2839.html?thread=431127#cmt431127).

Liam’s delighted to be on his own home turf again, or at least as close to it as they’re ever going to get barring an invite to the NJ Comic Expo. He’s talking a million miles an hour, expanding on all the things they’re almost definitely not going to get to do around the con because they won’t have time, they never have time. Most of them involve Broadway, off-Broadway, or off-off-Broadway, or so far off Broadway maybe he’s talking about what they’re going to do when they get back home to LA.  
  
Sam’s just disoriented because it’s already eleven here, his phone has dutifully updated to tell him that much, but their in-flight meal was at, like, five or something, and apart from that it was basically inedible. He’s chewing half-heartedly on a pretzel roughly the size of his head, eyes focused on the bright ribbon tied onto Liam’s suitcase to guide him through the crowded airport, and he is pretty sure that complaining about the time difference is just going to get him called a wuss.  
  
So he just consumes his salt-flavored crappy giant twisted breadstick, gets in the cab when Liam hails it with what Sam would refer to as an obnoxious East Coast whistle if he didn’t have his mouth full, and tries not to look too droopy as they move through the still-busy streets toward the con hotel.  
  
Liam opens their hotel room door and starts laughing. Sam honestly can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
“Sammy, you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?”  
  
Sam blinks at the queen bed. It does not turn into two double beds.  
  
“I’m too old for this shit,” he grumbles, heading for the bathroom.  
  
“You’re  _thirty-two_!” he hears Liam yell as the door closes.  
  
When he comes back out after washing his face and trying not to think too hard about how if he’d just napped on the plane instead of bouncing words back and forth with Liam—his comedy song lyrics, Liam’s script, practicing voice bits for the con, and some Shakespeare bit that Sam doesn’t quite recognize but that sounds like he could probably parody if he didn’t think it would piss Liam off that that was the only reason he was paying attention—Liam’s flopped across the bed reading the room service menu. The TV is on, a  _Lord of the Rings_  movie marathon that’s doubtless only going to be all the longer for having ad breaks.  
  
“Dinner was disappointing,” he says without looking up. “And this is all expensive. You want to go for pizza?”  
  
Sam stifles a yawn. “Yeah, I guess.”  
  
He apparently didn’t stifle the yawn well enough, because Liam rolls onto his back and gives him a concerned look. “Are you really that tired?”  
  
“It’s been a long week.” Sam sits on the edge of the bed.  _Oh_ , it’s comfortable. He already doesn’t think he’s going to be able to get back up. He toes his shoes off and bends to yank off his socks. “I’ll pay for room service if you want… I don’t really want to go back out.”  
  
“Sure.” Liam starts reading the menu out as though it’s written in iambic pentameter; despite his weariness Sam’s laughing by the time he gets as far as  _lightly toasted garlic focaccia with Camembert and thinly sliced prosciutto, garnished with homegrown basil and parsley_.  
  
When he calls down to order he does that in iambic pentameter as well, then refuses to get up when there’s a knock at the door, leaving Sam to answer it.  
  
“All the world’s a stage, huh?” the room service attendant says as she wheels in the cart and starts unloading plates. “You guys actors?” Her quick appraising glance—Sam, the one bed, Liam sprawled out like a  _GQ_ model, if  _GQ_  models ever wore  _Sailor Moon_  t-shirts—inserts the word  _gay_  before  _actors_.  
  
“He’s playing the horse’s ass in  _Equus_ ,” Sam says with a totally straight face. Liam starts giggling behind him.  
  
“I see.” She finishes up by setting down an ice bucket, and for a second Sam wonders if Liam’s  _slightly_  abused his offer to pay by ordering champagne. But no; the bucket just has a couple of soda bottles nestled in it. The worst case scenario is he’ll get a caffeine and sugar buzz, and honestly he doesn’t think that’s going to be enough to cut through how sleepy he is.  
  
But sure enough, once they’ve eaten and drunk (and the focaccia turns out to just be a really expensive spin on pizza, which does not surprise him), and after they’ve already stripped down to t-shirts and boxers and figured out who’s going to sleep on which side of the bed, Sam’s still staring into the dark at midnight. He’s semi-dozing, but he’s also more awake than he was when they landed at JFK, and as well as that he’s semi-hard. He supposes he could get up and do something about the latter, but he’s not  _that_  awake. He’s lying on his side facing the window; New York is bright at night no matter how tightly the blinds are closed.  
  
Liam is a warm solid presence beside him. A warm solid presence beside him who is suddenly a warm solid presence spooned along his back, one hand draping over his stomach. Sam can’t tell if Liam’s awake or asleep, or who Liam thinks he’s in bed with.  
  
“I thought you were exhausted,” Liam says softly in the dark.  
  
“So did I.”  
  
“Want me to sing you a lullaby?”  
  
“You’re fucking weird.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Liam kisses the back of his neck.  
  
Sam freezes and then says, carefully, “Liam, what are you doing?”  
  
“Helping you get to sleep.” A single note of uncertainty permeates his voice. “If that’s okay.”  
  
“I like ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’.”  
  
Liam kisses the side of his neck this time, hand sliding south of his waistband. “Twinkle, twinkle, little Sam—oh, not so little after all.”  
  
“No,” Sam agrees, twisting so he can kiss Liam’s mouth and stop the singing before he forms a semantic connection that’ll give him a boner every time he listens to the damn song. Liam sighs against his lips, a  _validated_  noise, and as Sam’s tongue slips against his, his hand works its way into Sam’s boxers. Sam whimpers when his fingers wrap around his cock, which is all the way awake now.  
  
The rest of him isn’t nearly as tired any more either.  
  
His own palm moves to rest on Liam’s lower back, encouraging him closer, pushing up under his t-shirt until Liam makes a frustrated noise and pulls away long enough to take it off. Sam wriggles out of his own t-shirt—boxers too, just for good measure—and when Liam sees him do so it becomes a race to see who can strip fastest.  
  
When they come back together, bare skin against bare skin, obviously they  _both_  won.  
  
Sam feels like he’s clumsily pawing at Liam in comparison to Liam’s sure, steady strokes, but if Liam minds he doesn’t say anything. Certainly the hard hot length of his cock in Sam’s hand isn’t complaining. They’re pressed closely enough that even if his hand falters, there’s another warm stretch of skin for Liam to rub against.  
  
There are no more words; they don’t need spoken language to communicate now. Aside from the obligatory  _oh God_  and  _fuck, Liam_  and  _yes_ ,  _yes_ ,  _yes_ , it’s all about movement, about racing hearts and quickening breaths, about stuttering hips and gasping whimpers.  
  
Sam comes into his best friend’s hand with his best friend’s name on his lips. With his best friend’s lips on his lips for that matter, catching the sound, echoing it back to him as his own name. Sam flops against Liam, his forehead resting against Liam’s; Liam kisses the tip of his nose then each cheek until their mouths meet again, slow and lazy.  
  
“Clean up?” Sam asks muzzily after a minute or so.  
  
Liam lifts his hand to his mouth and showily licks the palm clean, sucking each finger one by one. Sam’s frozen again and making a very interesting noise by the second finger.  
  
“There  _are_  tissues,” he manages as Liam sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking Sam’s come—or maybe his own, Sam doesn’t exactly have time to run a DNA test on it—off and swallowing it with apparent relish.  
  
“Sorry,” Liam says. “I prefer a more natural approach.” And with that he wriggles down the bed to lick Sam clean, tongue darting over Sam’s sensitive skin and making him gasp. Then suddenly his mouth is on Sam’s hand, sucking  _his_  fingers clean and Sam outright  _moans_.  
  
Liam does avail himself of the tissues for his own cleanup, leaving Sam wondering if he should’ve offered. Liam doesn’t seem to care, though, carelessly wiping the last spatters out of his happy trail before tossing the wadded-up tissue in the general direction of the trash.  
  
“God, Liam… that was amazing.”  
  
“I would’ve sucked myself clean, but I haven’t been able to do that for  _years_ ,” Liam says.  
  
“Ngh,” Sam says eloquently.  
  
Liam cuddles back up to him, pulling Sam’s back to his front, arm around his waist, breath warm on Sam’s neck. “Think you can sleep now?”  
  
“In a physical sense? Yes. I might have trouble getting my brain to shut up, though.”  
  
“Oh. Okay, so tomorrow night I should suck your brain out through your dick so you don’t have to think either, yeah?”  
  
“You’re fucking weird, Liam.”  
  
“I’m a problem solver.”  
  
Sam grins into the semi-darkness. “Yes, you are.” His hand goes over Lam’s on his stomach, fingers intertwining. “And I’m privileged to have been the problem.”  
  
“I very firmly feel you’re an asset to this bed,” Liam kisses the back of his neck again. “Now sleep.”  
  
Sam does, to his surprise; apparently caffeine, sugar, and endorphins aren’t enough to combat the post-orgasmic bliss of Liam-snuggles.  
  
He does, however, hope that Liam makes good on his suggestion about the next night’s insomnia cure.


End file.
